


There May Be People You Know There

by Little_Cello



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Christmas Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Cello/pseuds/Little_Cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam really doesn't ask for much. Sometimes he doesn't get what he asks for... and sometimes, he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There May Be People You Know There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xysabridde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xysabridde/gifts).



> Written for the Martian Holiday exchange in 2014. The prompt was "A Christmas tree has been stolen/borrowed without consent. Either Sam/Gene or Sam/Annie, any genre you fancy." I just decided to go with everything. /o/ Title from I Am Kloot's song "To The Brink".

Sam doesn't ask for much, really.

 

Some peace, a little quiet, time to stare at what passes for his Christmas tree and to contemplate the fact that this is his second Christmas Eve of 1973 – not something many people can claim to have experienced – and that he is spending it on his own (Annie had invited him to come spend the morning with her and her family, but he had felt it would be an intrusion and politely declined – mistake, Sam, mistake).

 

That isn't much to ask for, right? Right.

 

Why, then, is it that he is staring at the spot next to his telly, that exact spot where his little tree had stood, with said tree nowhere to be seen?

 

'You've got to be joking,' he mutters, blinking slowly. All these months he's been living here, the lock broken more often than not, and not once had there been a break-in – not of the thieving sort, anyway (amazing, really, how Gene as a copper does all this breaking and entering without even batting an eyelid). And now that it _has_ happened, the one thing that was taken is the little tree. The one thing that provided any sort of Christmas cheer in his otherwise dreary flat.

 

Sam is stood in the doorway, still staring at that vacated spot. It's ridiculous – it's not like he's a big believer in Christmas, all those strange traditions surrounding it, and the last Christmas he spent with Maya they didn't even bother with a tree, doing up their flat with loose twigs and lots of tinsel instead. But now... Now Sam has to blink hard as it finally hits him that the last little bit of seasonal cheer is gone without a trace, that this will be an evening like any other. And Sam will spend it alone.

 

He raises his head to stare up at the ceiling, curling his hands into fists. Ridiculous. An evening like any other, that is what it is, nothing to get depressed over. Nothing.

 

Sam turns on his heels and heads out, not even bothering to close the door. With everyone else out with their families or celebrating at the pub (which Sam doesn't particularly want to join in with, for a reason he can't quite explain), the poor buggers manning the station will probably be happy to get some company and extra helping hands. And there's nothing like work to get his mind off gloomy thoughts.

 

Just a bit of paperwork to go through. Really not much to ask for.

 

**

 

What greets Sam upon entering CID is raucous laughter and shouting, loud music, and the smell of booze.

 

Somehow, no one had deemed it fit to inform him that the annual Christmas party apparently takes place at the station, and moreover that everyone is invited.

 

Sam is standing in the doorway, staring at the scene presenting itself to him – the detectives clinking their glasses, laughing, Chris dancing to the Christmas songs blaring from the cassette recorder perched in the middle of the office, next to--

 

Sam blinks slowly.

 

Next to a small Christmas tree.

 

_His_ little tree.

 

'Look who the storm brought in – it's the Holy Mother Mary!'

 

That is Gene's booming voice, from somewhere to Sam's right, and he flinches slightly, turning his head to see his DCI striding towards him, holding a flask adorned with a little ribbon.

 

'Blimey Tyler, you look like you've seen the Ghost of Christmas Past, Present _and_ Future!'

 

Sam points towards the tree.

 

'That's my tree.'

 

'You what?'

 

'My tree. The one over there. Someone took it from my flat. Thought it had been stolen.'

 

' _Stolen_ 's a bit of a strong word, Sammy-boy – borrowed it, is all!'

 

Sam blinks again.

 

' _You_ took it?'

 

'Now don't get your knickers in a twist, Gladys, s'not like you cared for it much, did you?'

 

Sam is about to start protesting, when Gene's nod towards the tree makes him hesitate, makes him look properly. And indeed: There's a good number more baubles hanging off its branches than Sam ever put there, not to speak of the amounts of tinsel, candy canes, and other less traditional things (he's pretty sure that he actually spotted a package of condoms on there). When it had been at Sam's flat, there'd only been a lone star at its top, and a few more decorative bits and pieces he'd managed to get from the shops (not that he'd tried looking particularly hard).

 

Gene is right. That little tree actually looks... happy, now.

 

Sam deflates, shaking his head.

 

'You know what, suit yourself. Just don't take apart the office, will you, we'll need it in the days after the festivities.'

 

With this, Sam turns away, with every intention to bury himself in the Collator's and rearrange last year's case files by date and alphabet – and is stopped short by a small package being shoved at his chest.

 

'Oh!'

 

It's Annie, blinking up at him in surprise. Fair enough, she probably didn't expect Sam to turn around so suddenly. He smiles (slightly forced), looks down at the parcel. 'This is...?'

 

'Merry Christmas?' she says askingly, nudging the present against his chest again. There's a lovely little blush on her cheeks - possibly due to the general atmosphere and heat in the room, but very endearing nonetheless.

 

And... bloody hell, she actually just gave him a present. Sam's eyes widen, and he raises his hands to take the wrapped box off her, feeling his own cheeks flush. 'Oh – Christ, Annie, I didn't even...' He does have a small present for her, but he'd not expected to see her again until after Christmas day, so of course he didn't think to bring it along. Annie, however, just smiles and shakes her head.

 

'Don't worry – you donated the tree, didn't you? Guv said so.'

 

Sam looks over at Gene sharply, who gives him the most nonchalant look before downing a chaser. Donated? _Really?_ The absurdity of it all makes Sam snort out a laugh. 'Suppose you could call it that. Listen, though, I do have something – it's back at my flat. Maybe later we could...?'

 

Sam doesn't get to finish his sentence as Gene tugs him away.

 

'Enough of the flirting, Tyler, s'time y'learned the meaning of Christmas cheer!' He steers Sam to the centre of the party, where detectives and constables greet him with shouts and raised glasses, and despite everything, Sam grins, lets someone shove a pint into his free hand. He glances back, sees Annie follow close behind, toasts in her general direction. He'll have to finish their earlier conversation, but something about her smile tells him that she understood what he was asking, and that she's already agreed.

 

**

 

Sam doesn't ask for much, really – a bit of peace and quiet, someone to talk to, some Christmas cheer to top it off – but tonight, as the party peters out and it's both Annie and Gene who end up back at Sam's flat (for a private little epilogue of their own for this excellent Christmas Eve), he gets everything he's asked for, and so much more.

 


End file.
